


Warp and weft

by Moiself



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mythology, Gen, Mythical Beings & Creatures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-25 22:58:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13223013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moiself/pseuds/Moiself
Summary: This was a hard slog to get to even as much of a word count as it is, and real life didn’t help much when it came to writing, however I hope my giftee enjoys it despite being a little out of left field.I may come back & re-work this at some point.





	Warp and weft

**Author's Note:**

  * For [OurDeal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OurDeal/gifts).



He had never truly understood why some people spoke of the year as a wheel, ever turning and turning. He always thought the passage of time was rather more like the shuttle of a loom, the weft of the days threading through the warp of the seasons, turning back on itself at the solstices, showing the fabric of a life in its wake. That particular image made much more sense to him. Days grew shorter, nights longer and darker, until all hope of any brightness and light was almost gone…and then when things seemed darkest the pattern doubled back, the sun reborn claimed a little more and a little more of each new day and life went on.

Once, a long long time ago, so long ago that the pattern woven by his days was faint and distant, the adults and children of the land had marked the turning point of the year at the winter solstice with feasting and revelry, sure and certain in their belief that the light and warmth of their fires and of their convivial fellowship appeased the tired old bones of the queen of winter and shone as a beacon to guide the sun back to bless them with his rays. It was such a very human instinct, to stand firm, show respectful defiance, to fend off the cold and the dark and the approaching lean times with a last glorious bright burst of life.

As the weave of his long life grew longer still, with some threads breaking and with new ones being added, new exciting patterns being created in brighter, more vibrant colours, he witnessed this marking of the turning point of the year over and over. He watched, sometimes seen, sometimes unseen, as families in all the variations that word has ever meant, gathered together to mark the longest night. He watched as the followers of a new god came to the land and swallowed the midwinter feast into their own holy day. The men of the new god moved the day of celebration, claiming the feast day of one of his brothers from over the seas as their own and declaring it to be the one true midwinter festival. That was not the only tradition the men of the new god stole. Their reach was vast and everywhere they touched, they took. They took and they twisted to suit their own ends. They took in an effort to make the ways of their new god more palatable to the old followers of his brothers and sisters. They took the the bringing in of living greenery, they took the bright burning log, they took the wassailing to chase off unkind spirits who might linger in the darkness, they took the giving of gifts and marked it with the name of their new god, but he knew, as his brothers and sisters of the land and across the seas knew, the power lay in the act, not in the name. Names were mere cloaks to be worn or cast aside as needed and the true intent and meaning behind the midwinter ritual remained, regardless of the name it wore.

Finn, for that was the name he wore now, had watched, once again sometimes seen, sometimes unseen, as the festivities which now wore the name Christmas, had grown and grown. For a time, it had been a holy day of somewhat sombre celebration, lacking in the most part, the joyous devil may care frivolity of the winter solstice of his younger days. There had always been those who had continued to keep the old ways, even though they may not have fully understood why, but they were so often viewed as backwards thinking, overly superstitious, unsophisticated simpletons. Now however, the festivities he witnessed had been in part what the followers of the new god had called secularised, stripped of their connection to him, holy days becoming holidays, though as far as Finn was concerned they were merely embracing their origins once more.

He sometimes wondered what the queen of winter and her brothers and and sisters from over the seas felt about it all. No longer did people huddle together, gathering their loved ones close in fear of their mighty wrath, now they welcomed the midwinter with open arms, beckoning them in for weeks, months even with decorations and revelry and light. The midwinter traditions were even observed in the midst of summer in the far flung places where the seasons were flipped on their head, or in places where winter’s bite had lost its vicious sting, such had been the all pervasive reach of the men of the new god, spreading their plagiarized rituals in their god’s name.

Drawn to the warmth and joy of the new Christmas festival, Finn felt nothing but delight at the the pattern the modern days of celebration took. He had experienced it many times, in many forms, stepping into the world of humanity, donning new names, new faces, new lives weaving new threads into the rich tapestry of his past. 

Often, in less sophisticated days, he had taken donned the guise of the poor weary traveller, seeking shelter on a dark and stormy winter night, taken in, given rest and succour in the spirit of the season by those who appeared to have little to share. Those who had so little were often the most generous, welcoming him in to their humble homes, giving him portion of their meagre fare. He would vanish in the dead of night, leaving behind no sign of his visit except his thanks and a magically full larder, enough to feed the household without worry for the rest of the year. He had drawn the edges of his power into himself and been born over and over into families who had longed for a babe, growing to adulthood, spending the span of his days with them, experiencing the holidays with them, both bringing joy and sharing in it until the threads of that existence frayed and broke, and new ones were knotted in, the pattern beginning again. He had celebrated the winter solstice with princes and paupers, in the heat and the frost, he even accepted the invitations of his brothers and sisters across the seas when they came, spending the festivities with their people, learning of their differences and the things they had in common.

One of Finn’s favourite things about the midwinter of now, about this Christmas festival, was the focus given to the littlest members of the families. He loved children, loved to see the joy on their faces as they saw the bright twinkling lights, the concentration on their faces as they carefully crafted paper representations of the traditional evergreens brought indoors, the excitement as they opened their gifts. 

They were the true sparkle of bright light in the darkness and their innocent delight had been tempting enough for him to insinuate himself into the world of humanity once again.

The people of this age were a contradiction. They loved to speak of the season of goodwill and of the magic of Christmas, but they were more cynical, less trusting, more closed off to the magic they claimed to love than any Finn could recall in the long tapestry of his existence. Sheltering strangers was something that only happened now in stories told to children, or in the films that flourished at this time of year, no doubt inspired by the tales passed down of that time long long ago when many times removed grandparents opened their homes and hearts to a stranger and were rewarded in a way which changed the fortunes of the family. 

He could still be born into a family however, weave even more new threads into his bolt of cloth, share the happiness of a lifetime of Christmases as well as all of the other celebrations that marked a family’s year. 

He had picked a family of his own people this time, a family already full of love and happiness where Christmas was all the things he enjoyed most, a treasured time for gathering together, for celebrating making it through another year and for stocking up on the warmth of feeling that would help them get through the harshest stretch of winter that still lay ahead. 

He was not their own only much longed for child, but he was no less loved for it, revelling in the closeness he felt for the siblings of this life. His true sunshine nature flourished with the support and love of this life’s mother and father, encouraged by them to follow his dreams, for though magic no longer held sway over the hearts and minds of the people of this age, dreams did. 

Finn lived his dream. It took him all over the world, meeting so many people, picking up so many new threads to weave into his pattern. People of all ages whose lives were in turn touched by the joy he spread.

**Author's Note:**

> This was a hard slog to get to even as much of a word count as it is, and real life didn’t help much when it came to writing, however I hope my giftee enjoys it despite being a little out of left field.
> 
> I may come back & re-work this at some point.


End file.
